


Of All the Pretty Little Horses

by Oshun



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dol Amroth, F/M, Gondor, Imrazôr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2303795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer and Faramir admiring a Dol Amroth lady from slightly different perspectives. (First published 2005 on Henneth Annûn Story Archive.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of All the Pretty Little Horses

"She's very beautiful," Éomer sighed deeply.

"She is indeed. The prettiest of Dol Amroth. Very good bloodline," Faramir answered.

 _Strange answer_ , Éomer thought. _But, true. Aside from the king himself, few in Gondor could boast of a better one, dating back to the first Prince of Dol Amroth,_ _Imrazôr the Númenórean, and if legends are true, like the king, has Elven blood as well. I can believe it. She sits, despite the saddle, with Elven grace. It is hard to guess the age of those in whom the Númenórean strain runs so true._

"How old is she?" Éomer asked mildly, trying not to reveal his rising level of interest.

"I'm not sure. Nearly grown I would think."

Éomer turned and studied Faramir, whose profile revealed nothing. _Odd that he doesn't know. I had heard the sons of the Steward were nearly as close as siblings to their cousins in Dol Amroth._

"She's elegant and proud, but not insensitive. Intelligent and strong too. Although not as heavily built as one bred in Rohan, I have no doubt that fully grown she could take on any but the stoutest of warriors," Faramir continued, glancing at Éomer, whose face had shadowed with a dark, truly puzzled frown. Suddenly, Faramir, usually so solemn, burst out with a deep hearty laugh.

Hearing his laughter, Lothíriel turned her elegant and spirited mount with effortless skill and waving rode toward the wall where Faramir and Éomer sat.

Éomer, ever good-natured, smiled at Faramir, "I was speaking of your cousin and you thought I meant the filly?"


End file.
